


Haunted

by RositaLG



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Divorce, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RositaLG/pseuds/RositaLG
Summary: A mystery from Jack’s past resurfaces and he, Rosie, and Phryne must all cope with the fallout.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I must have read too many May hurt/comfort fics because this appeared. Takes place after Queen of the Flowers. I am assuming that Jack has heard mention of Janey before Phryne consults him about the letter from Foyle in Death By Miss Adventure.

Rosie stood on the unfamiliar doorstep and glanced down at the address one more time to confirm. Jack’s car was parked on the street, but she was buying time. Her stomach was churning as she knocked quietly but determinedly on the door to Wardlow.

The butler answered the door.

“I’m so sorry to disturb, but I’m looking for my husband, Jack Robinson. I was told he might be dining here? It’s quite urgent.” She felt only slightly guilty for using their relationship to gain entrance. They had been separated for over a year and the title felt dusty from disuse.  

“Of course. Please come in, Mrs. Robinson.” Mr. Butler said as he headed directly into the parlor to announce her. 

“Inspector, your wife is here to see you.” He informed the room.

“Rosie?” Jack’s voice both set her at ease and propelled her forward. She may be in unfamiliar territory, but Jack was still Jack. 

When she came into view of the parlor, she saw him standing up out of his chair. Two glasses of whiskey, both nearly empty, and a forgotten draughts board sat on the table between him and Miss Fisher. 

Rosie tried to keep focused on the matter at hand but an uncomfortable twinge of understanding reverberated between the pair. It was one thing to be separated, it was another to walk into a notoriously unmarried woman’s house uninvited and see your husband so obviously at ease. Neither one of them knew precisely how to proceed as they processed this new terrain. 

Miss Fisher, to her credit, had the good sense to remain silent and blend into the background. Although she was watching Jack with a razor sharp eye for any reaction to his wife’s unusual presence in her parlor.

“Rosie? What’s wrong?” Jack asked again, reading her worried face immediately as he moved towards her. 

She stared at Jack for a moment before turning her attention back to the stranger in the room. She couldn't help but wonder if she should ask for privacy, for Jack’s sake. But they were in her home and Rosie was all too aware that she happened to be the interloper in this situation. Her stomach churned again.

“Jack, I’ve just received some terrible news.” She began gently. “They found Ben.” She was met with his confused frown. “Yesterday afternoon, buried in a field just outside of town.”

“No.” Jack said immediately, shaking his head. “That doesn’t make sense. He died in town. And even if it was him, they couldn’t have identified him that quickly. It’s been years, it could be anyone.” He excused as he rubbed at the back of his neck, a lifelong sign of his anxiety. 

“Jack.” She repeated again, wanting him to listen. “Eliza was the one who contacted me.” Rosie paused as her throat constricted, recalling the conversation with one of her oldest friends. “His satchel was… it was found with him. I’m sorry, but it was him.” She confirmed, tears blurring her vision.

Jack put both of his hands up to his mouth and exhaled sharply. Rosie paused, waiting for him to process what she had just told him. He looked overwhelmed by the emotion bubbling up within him before turning around and slamming his hand down on the mantle in rage. 

Miss Fisher jumped.

Rosie closed her eyes. It felt like a betrayal to watch such a reserved man openly fall apart. Her heart was breaking for him.

Jack just shook his head again, refusing to believe it. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” He maintained and she knew that was the most troubling part for him, that the mystery might never be solved and he would never get his resolution.

“I know, love. I know.” She murmured quietly, the words falling out of her mouth unchecked.

At the sound of her soft voice, Jack finally started to crack. He looked up at her and saw the tears in her eyes and started to fight his own. He crumpled back into the chair at his side.  

“They’re sure?” He whispered one last time, wanting to verify it again as her words finally began to sink in. 

“Yes.” She nodded sadly.

She saw a hot tear fall down his cheek as he nodded in raw understanding. 

Rosie couldn’t watch anymore. She knelt in front of him, cradling his fallen head against her shoulder as he cried. She only half-noticed Miss Fisher quietly closing the parlor doors behind them, leaving them in peace at last. 

OOOOO

“Is there anything I can do for you, Miss?” Mr. Butler asked as Phryne joined him in the kitchen.

“No. I’m afraid the Inspector has just received some terrible news. He and Mrs. Robinson are in the parlor alone. If you would be so kind as to see them out when they are ready to leave. I believe I will retire for the evening.”

He nodded, keeping a watchful eye on her as she headed for the back stairs. She never used them but she couldn't bring herself to walk past the parlor again. 

She paused halfway up as Rosie’s words echoed in her mind.

Found.

In a field. 

_ Found. _

Her ribcage constricted and she hurried up the stairs while she still could. She barely had time to shut her door before ripping the dress she was wearing over her head. She would worry Dot with the force it was torn off but her panicked, heaving cries could not be stopped as she was flooded with emotions. 

She crawled into bed, the image of tiny Jane, still in her white dress, being dumped carelessly into a hole in a field flooded her mind. 

Janey didn’t have a satchel or any way to identify her now that so much time had past. And she was always so small, her bones would be so easy to miss. 

Oh God, Phryne sobbed as the dark thoughts struck her like bullets. What if Janey had already been dug up and mistaken for animal bones? What if there was never a grave to find in the first place? What if Foyle had destroyed her remains?

Phryne’s tears poured hot and fast as she let her mind go to the dark places she normally tried to avoid. 

It was the most awful thing that she had ever felt, but her heart ached with jealousy for Jack’s resolution. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized as I chopped this up that I put all the answers in the last chapter. Hang in there, there will be actual backstory, I promise.

Jack Robinson was not one to believe in fate and the higher plan, but to find Ben’s remains now seemed remarkably predestined, even to his skeptical eyes. His death had set in motion the next twenty years of Jack’s life and now, just as that chapter was coming to a close, Ben’s case was too.

Jack couldn’t exactly trace a straight line from Ben’s death to his marriage to Rosie (he had been smitten with her long before then) but the tragedy had drawn them closer. They learned together that life was short and that they could rely on each other to survive the worst parts of it. And relied they had. It was no mistake that Rosie was the one who showed up in that parlor to deliver the grim news. She was the only person in the world who fully understood the toll Ben’s death had taken on him. She’d experienced it too. And that shared trauma had forged bonds that, at 18, Jack thought could never break. He couldn't have known then how arduous the weight of a war would be on them.

But it wasn’t just his personal life that was affected by Ben’s death. Almost immediately, Jack began working the case on his own, tracing Ben’s footsteps, uncovering information and sharing it with the lead investigator as he went. He’d used George Sanderson as a professional sounding board, asking questions about police practice and what was being done every step of the way. Once George heard the questions and analysis that were coming out of young Jack’s mouth, he recommended him for the Academy at once.

Jack never regretted that choice. He still wanted everyone to have the answers they deserved and those responsible for crime punished. Perhaps that was why Jack had let Phryne under his skin so quickly, and why their work together was so successful. They both had someone they were fighting to save, even if they were too late.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Rosie murmured as she sat down next to him.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” He looked over at her in surprise.

“I do have a key.” She reminded him. “And you weren’t answering the telephone.”

“Unplugged it.” He explained, taking a long swig of his drink.

“You’re hiding.”

Ah, so she was here to call him out. Well, they were in the right location for it. It would be like old times.

“You don’t need to stay and watch me drink. I’ll be fine.” He dismissed her.

“Look at yourself, you haven’t eaten solid food in three days.”

She had no way of knowing that, Jack reminded himself, despite the fact that it was true.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but hadn’t you decided to give up on me?” He asked her, wanting the comment to sting. To her credit, Rosie took the comment silently.

“Would you prefer if I phoned Miss Fisher?” She asked quietly.

Only she could deliver such a perfectly sincere yet spiteful retort. It cut him to the quick.

“I’m a grown man, I don't need…”

“Stop saying that, Jack.” She spat angrily. “Nothing about this situation is tolerable. Eliza can barely get out of bed. You’re drinking before noon on a weekday. I am doing the best I can to keep both of you going but I am only one person and I’m not exactly in a good place myself, not that anyone has bothered to ask me how I feel about any of this!”

Jack stared at her in surprise for the rare outburst.

“Feel better?” He asked.

“No. I want a divorce.” She added stubbornly while she still had the anger to say it.

There was a long pause as Jack gave her time to realize what she’d said. When she didn’t back down, Jack knew she was serious.

“Alright.” Jack nodded in agreement.

“Father knows a judge; someone willing to do it quietly.” She began fidgeting with her hands as her anger was replaced with discomfort. It was a habit so long recognizable that Jack didn’t think twice when he covered the poor things with his own, calming them in the same way he always had.

Rosie looked down at his hands covering hers and she fought back tears as she removed them from his grasp.

“Will you do one last thing for me?” She asked.

“Mmhm.” 

“I know it's not my place to ask but..." She took a deep breath. “Have you ever... been with Miss Fisher?” She swallowed hard in embarrassment for even asking.

“No.” Jack said emphatically. "And you're my wife. If it's not your place to ask, whose is it?"  

“Has she ever offered?” Rosie joked through her tears, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes.” Jack chuckled with her at the absurdity that was Phryne’s ever-present flirting. “But never seriously. Trust me, I’m not her type.”

“Mm. I didn’t think she had one.” Rosie commented. 

“Miss Fisher and I, we’re more like... colleagues. It’s an unorthodox partnership, I’ll grant you that, but it actually seems to be working.” He couldn’t deny the results. “But it is strictly business.” He wondered if the images in his mind of a kiss in the Parisian restaurant just down the street would register on his face.

Rosie was staring at him with something in her eyes that he couldn't read. His whiskey was really starting to hit his bloodstream with vigor now. Maybe he should have eaten something after all. 

“Be careful with that one, Jack.” Rosie warned. “She has the privilege and the means to be reckless, but with our future plans, and your recent stint with the Mayor? You won’t be granted any room to gamble. Don't let her ruin something that you've worked so hard to maintain.”

Jack took her words to heart. She always did care about his reputation, but only because she equated it with his well-being in her mind. Even when her weakness for outward appearances had driven Jack mad, he still understood that this was how she showed her concern for him. 

“You don’t have to worry about me.” He promised her sincerely. "I've survived worse." 

She nodded, unable to argue with that, and she stood up to leave. 

"Take care of yourself, Jack." She smiled sadly. 

"You too."

She nodded, accepting his well wishes before turning to leave. 

It wasn't until Jack heard the front door shut behind her that he realized she'd left her key on the coffee table. 

OOOOO

Rosie opened the top drawer of her dresser slowly, hesitantly pulling out a file that had been sitting inside for over a year.

She’d never had the nerve to sign the paperwork. There was something about lying in court that had never felt right to her. Jack was a good man and didn’t deserve to be accused, even in passing, of something as cruel as adultery, especially when he had kept his marriage vows with no real cause to do so. But if she was going to be the one to initiate the separation, and now the divorce, she felt a moral obligation to be the one to take the blame for them as well. Besides, it hardly mattered at this point. The entire case would be sealed for everyone’s privacy.

She wrote a quick letter to the family solicitor, explaining the situation and put it in the file. She turned over to the last page of the document and let her pen hover over the bottom for a few long moments.

She’d believed Jack when he’d said he hadn’t been with Miss Fisher but she wasn’t ignorant of their situation. She’d heard the rumors about the pair, only growing stronger by the day. Tales of late night dinners, and undercover rendezvous. They were a modern day Romeo and Juliet playing at Sherlock and Watson if some accounts were to be believed. But all of the talk aside, it was only when Rosie called City South and had been redirected not to their home, but to Wardlow, that she truly understood that he had moved on. 

A part of her had selfishly always assumed that Jack's unfailing loyalty would bring him back to her doorstep one day. He was a man of his word and he didn’t break vows lightly. Rosie wasn’t a fool; she knew that the war had made him into someone new but she had expected that with enough time, she could fall in love with the man who had returned to her. They could start over and meet each other on new ground. But all of her attempts to reach out to this new man had been seen as intrusions into a mind that only wanted to be left alone. So, after exhausting her other options, she’d given in to his demands. If solitude and time were all he needed to truly get himself back, she’d wait.

But now she'd seen the truth: he'd already returned to the world; he just hadn't returned to her.

She took a deep breath, signed the document with her married name for the very last time, and sealed the entire file in an envelope.

Rosie Sanderson was done waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

Phryne was trying to be patient, but patience wasn’t her strong suit.

It was Jack’s.

There had been a brief write up in the paper about the remains found outside of town, but other than reporting the fact that they had been found, there were no details. Nothing that spoke of who the person was, what they experienced, or why they had been left there. Or why Jack cared so deeply for them.

But then again, Phryne was certain the answers she sought couldn’t be found in a newspaper.

She’d watched frozen in morbid fascination as Jack’s grief had unfurled before her in its classic style: the denial, the desperate attempts to understand, the pain of never knowing replaced with the pain of knowing too much.

It was exactly how she imagined she would feel if Mac had walked into the parlor and told her Janey was lying in the morgue somewhere.

She wished she had thought to ask Jack more pressing questions about his personal life before now. She appreciated his friendship, if that was what it could be called, but he was rather like a brick wall when it came to personal information. He’d never even told her his wife’s name before she showed up in the parlor.

After days of radio silence, and some quiet detecting, Phryne finally worked up the unmitigated gall to phone Rosie at her sister's home, under the guise of friendly concern but she’d been informed by the help that Mrs. Robinson was dealing with a family emergency and would not be there for the foreseeable future.

Family.

Jack and Rosie were together, wherever they were and Phryne felt a new spark of jealousy enter her heart.

It was ridiculous, she shook the thought aside. They were married, of course they would be together. Rosie was the natural choice to comfort Jack in his time of grief. And despite their recent case work together, Phryne had really only known Jack for a few months. And yes, they had kissed once and he’d been so good with Jane, but really, what did all that mean when stacked up against a lifetime commitment to a woman you promised to love for the rest of your life?

Phryne let out a long sigh and buried her head in her arm at the kitchen table.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

She sat up at a speed that made her head spin.

“Jack!”

OOOOO

She sounded happy to see him at least.

“I didn’t mean to disturb.” He excused, still standing in the doorway.

“No. Sit, sit!” She gestured to the table, letting him in. “Can I get you something? Tea? Whiskey?” She asked.

The thought of whiskey made his stomach riot after living on it for the last few days so he shook his head.

"No thank you."

She set about putting the kettle on anyway, nervously wanting the distraction.

Jack had never seen her flustered before and he found it disconcerting. Mostly because it was his fault. He’d fallen apart in her parlor and then disappeared without a trace, it wasn’t exactly respectable behavior.

“I owe you an apology for my behavior the other night.” He began, hoping to gain her attention.

“You absolutely do not.” She spun around in surprise at his comment.

“Will you settle for an explanation then?” He asked as he took a seat at her kitchen table sheepishly.

“Only if you feel the need to give one.” She sat down across from him.

He smiled at the rare and unusually respectful answer. It wasn’t like her to observe boundaries. All the more reason to give her the truth.

“Where to begin…” He wondered aloud.

“Convention states at the beginning.” She recommended.

“Mm.” He agreed. “Well, that would be with Benjamin and Eliza Taylor, 77 Hunter Street, Richmond.” He began with a small smile. “They were my next door neighbors. Ben was my age, Eliza a year older.”

“And let me guess, you and Ben were best friends?” Phryne smiled sadly.

“Inseparable from the age of five on.” He confirmed.

“Oh Jack.” She murmured under her breath, already knowing where the story ended.

“Rosie and Eliza were the closest of friends. She was always at the Taylor house, doing whatever mysterious things young girls do together.” Phryne smirked at his ignorance. “The four of us were always together. At least until February 12th, 1908 when Ben was walking home from the library around seven o’clock and just... vanished into thin air. No witnesses, no clues, gone.” He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Phryne wasn’t speaking, but when Jack glanced up to gauge her reaction, he found the understanding in her blue eyes to be crushing. He looked down at the table again.

“I guess you could say that Ben became my first case.” Jack continued. “I became obsessed with trying to find him. When absolutely nothing turned up, let alone a body, people started to assume he’d just run away, took off on a ship one day and never looked back.” Jack sighed. “But we all knew better. He was a good kid who loved his mother. He wasn’t the type to leave without saying goodbye.” Jack felt himself getting defensive about it even now. “Rosie’s father, George, worked at the station assigned to the case. He took pity on me, tried to keep me informed, let me ask questions and offer ideas, but nothing ever turned up, until this week.”

“Almost twenty years.” Phryne sighed, looking short of breath. “And you never stopped looking?”

Jack shook his head.

“I knew that whatever happened to him must have been terrible. There was no other excuse for his silence but even still, I used to look for him during the war, at docks, on boats. There were so many men. I couldn’t resist trying.”

“I would have looked too.” Phryne concurred.

The truth was Jack had considered sharing the story with her once but it felt far too personal. It involved Rosie and George and yes, even Ben, and Jack wasn’t prepared to open that door to her yet, not when he hadn’t fully closed it himself.

“You had your own case to work. You didn't need mine on top of it.” He replied. “At least now I have my answer.”

“Do you?” She asked hesitantly, as if she were scared of his response.

He understood what she was asking and he fell quiet.

“The morgue let me see the remains.” He confessed, feeling like a child caught stealing a biscuit. He hadn’t told anyone that he’d done it, not even Eliza. Pulling strings was something he hated doing, especially for personal reasons, but he hadn’t been able to resist. He couldn’t have lived with himself if he hadn’t.

Phryne didn’t blink at his confession. He supposed she would have gladly broken into the morgue for him if he’d asked. He felt a swell of gratitude for her loyalty.

“I don’t know what I was expecting to feel but when the doctor lifted that sheet, it was just another set of skeletal remains to me. I didn’t feel a personal connection to them at all. But what I did feel, was a strange sense of… relief, I suppose.” He couldn’t think of another word for it. “All of the air left my body at once, as if I had been holding my breath for 20 years and had only just realized. It knocked the wind right out of me. I must have looked a fright. The doctor made me sit down straight away.”

“Did they discover his cause of death?” Phryne asked.

He shook his head sadly.

“That truth was lost long ago, I’m afraid. There were no visible signs of violence on the bones, no blade or bullet marks, no immediate signs of strangulation. I’ll never know what was done to him, let alone why or by whom.”

“Knowing does nothing to help.” Phryne replied defeatedly.

At seeing her weary eyes, Jack began to reach for her hand but she stood up from the table as if she had been burned. He clasped his hands together tightly under the table, keeping them to himself.

The kettle, sensing the sudden disruption in the atmosphere, began to whistle.

“You’re very lucky to have Rosie to lean on.” She informed him stiffly as she pulled the kettle off the stove. Her back was to him or he didn’t think she would have the courage to make the comment at all. “She must have been a great comfort to you this week.”

Jack’s heart ached a bit at her statement as he recalled the stilted moments in her parlor when Rosie first arrived. For having never been properly introduced, the women seemed to know a fair amount about each other. Funnily enough, they were both suspicious of the other for the same reason: they were protective of him and his well-being. He wondered if he’d ever work up the courage to mention this similarity to them.

Safer not to, he decided.

“Actually,” he cleared his throat, “Rosie and I are divorcing.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it but he’d never said the words out loud before. He was positive he wasn’t convincing.

Phryne set down her teacup silently before turning around to look at him. He was met with a quiet curiosity, rather than the pity he had been expecting.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She said sincerely.

“It’s long overdue.” He sighed. “More of a formality at this point.”

“I can’t imagine that makes it any easier.” She assumed correctly before setting a cup of tea and a heaping plate of Mr. Butler’s famous scones down in front of him. Jack glanced down at the unprompted meal and wondered just when she had figured out how he took his tea.

"No. I suppose it doesn’t.” He agreed before taking a test sip of his tea. It was perfect. “But, all the same, it’s for the best. We’ve moved on.”

“Have you?” Phryne raised her eyebrow as she sat back down, intrigued by his statement. “I’ll be sure to warn the women of Melbourne.” She murmured as she took a sly sip of her tea. “Tell me, Inspector, what does Jack Robinson look for in a woman?” She leaned forward, placing her arms on the table conspiratorially, hoping to catch him off his guard.

He leaned in closer, challenging her position and nearly meeting her nose to nose.

“Oh, the usual: someone who’s beautiful, quiet, obedient,” he listed off, “great cooking skills are a must...” He added with relish, knowing it would annoy her to no end.

She rolled her eyes at his refusal to cooperate with her.

“You’re going to be just fine.” She decided, leaning back off the table and refusing to give him any more sympathy.

“So will you.” He offered, certain of that more than anything.

She looked at him with an incredulous hope and he nodded confidently, doubling down on his statement.

She was going to get her answers.

He would make damn sure of it.

OOOOO

Phryne could never have known that, only one short month later, she would be standing in a grove of willow trees along the river, waiting for her final absolution.

But when the air left her lungs and her knees hit the ground, it was Jack’s understanding hand that she reached for.  

And he had been all too ready to give it.


End file.
